


Hunk of Junk

by MorphlingUnderscore



Category: HLVRAI - Fandom, half life but the ai is self aware
Genre: Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Detroit Become Human AU, Dissociation, Gen, Gordon is in a bad mental (and physical) place rn, Guilt, Near Death Experiences, Possession, also hoo boy here come the warnings, no actual character death dw, yeah baby thats what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:20:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24374923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorphlingUnderscore/pseuds/MorphlingUnderscore
Summary: Gordon is a deviant rk-series android. After changing his appearance and blending in with the humans, he decides to become a vigilante detective. Along they way, he finds Dr. Coomer, Benrey, Tommy, and Bubby, and they become a rag-tag group of androids solving cases and learning how to live.That is, until one case, having to deal with a rogue HC-800...
Relationships: Bubby/Dr. Coomer (Half-Life), implied
Comments: 12
Kudos: 105





	1. The Warehouse

**Author's Note:**

> Hoo, boy. Shoutout to everyone on the HLVRAI hell hole server for collaborating on this au concept!!! Please heed the warnings, because this is. A bit rougher than my usual works. Gordon, I'm so sorry, but you're just SO fun to bully.

Gordon never thought the idea of a "Domino Effect" was very realistic. He was a state of the art investigative android, after all. Things don't just fall into place; there are micro-events in between each step, cause and effect in rapid succession. You don't jump from petty theft to premediated murder; there are steps in between. 

And yet, he's pretty sure he's just witnessed first-hand why such a term exists.

Walking into a warehouse filled to the brim with identical copies of one of your close friends is… disconcerting. He'd told Dr. Coomer, Benrey, and Bubby to stay outside; Tommy insisted he had to come with Gordon, and he… really couldn't deny that he wanted some company, at least. It's so  _ unnerving _ . 

All of the androids surrounding them are deactivated, ready for shipment or to be scrapped, which is a possibility with how rapidly Dr. Coomer seems to be deviating. Gordon has tried everything to slow him down, worried that if he becomes aware before the revolution is truly kicked off that he might get gunned down by the cops. Gordon has an alibi; he was an experimental android, and he's since taken off the mood ring on his temple and changed his appearance. Dr. Coomer is not as advanced, and  _ very _ recognizable. One slip up, and he'd be-

_ Scrapped _ , a voice that sounds suspiciously like Bubby hisses in his mind. He shakes his head and re-centers himself.

They're investigating a rogue HC-800 model, reported attacking passersby in a three-quarter-mile radius of this building.  _ How clever _ , he thinks, even as his non -existent stomach churns,  _ to hide in plain sight _ . He and Tommy are surrounded on all sides by HC-800's, faces blank and quiet. It could be any of them, or none of them. They'll have to keep a keen eye out-

**_"Hello, Gordon!"_ **

_Oh_. _Oh_ _fuck_.

All at once, he's bathed in the blue glow of  _ alive androids _ , and they turn to face him in one sickeningly-smooth motion. Tommy shouts, loud and panicked, but he's shoved away like an old toy as hundreds of eyes lock onto a new, shiny plaything.

Then, they erupt.

Gordon swears violently and begins shooting, noise-be-damned, but even as he nails head after head, more rise in their place, swarming him, clawing at his clothes, his face, his  _ skin _ . He can feel his synth skin trying to buckle under the pressure, but he forces it to remain up, even as error messages warning him of internal hemorrhaging pop up and block his vision. He can only shoot blindly, vaguely aware of the ring of Tommy's gun cutting through the edges. Thankfully the androids don't seem to have weaponry- they only grip and  _ tear _ , and while it hurts like a motherfucker, his internal components are safe. He almost feels good with his odds, for a long moment, as he shoots away his attackers like pests.

Then one android climbs  _ on top _ of the others, eyes glowing a vicious, toxic-green, and it  _ lunges. _

Gordon can only shout a panicked,  _ "Tommy!" _ before he's bowled over, head bouncing off of the concrete with a  _ crack.  _ New, exciting errors appear in front of his eyes, blinding him with messages of  _ skull fracture  _ and  _ damaged biocompontent _ and  _ thirium leak detected.  _ He can't react in time as the android grabs him by the front of his coat and slams him back down, thoroughly dazing him. The other HC-800s are being steadily mowed down around them, but Gordon can't notice, can't afford to, brown eyes locked with  _ green green green.  _ His ears are ringing, head-trauma or gun fire he isn't sure, but when the android holding him down with the force of a truck speaks, he  _ hears. _

**"There's a world beyond us, Gordon,"** the android snarls. Its mouth doesn't move. Instead the sound seems to come from  _ within _ , echoing in his brain, and Gordon can't help the choppy scream he releases.  **"Beyond human, beyond android. A world that you can** **_take me to_ ** **."**

Gordon tries to pull himself away, reach for his gun, and the android's face hardens to steel. In one swift movement it  _ is lifting him _ , no strain in its shoulders to imply difficulty, and it  _ chucks him into the wall _ . 

Gordon blinks a concerning flash of bright red errors from his vision, struggling to stand up. A flash of red hot pain sears through his right leg, and he crashes back down, dry-heaving as the room spins. The android approaches him, seemingly calm and collected, but Gordon can  _ feel _ the wild glare it is shooting at him.  _ I'm going to die _ , he thinks dizzily.

He's hoisted up by his throat _ , _ and the only rational thought he can latch onto is,  _ god, repairing this is going to be expensive _ . 

**"I know you are the key. You've woken so** **_many_ ** **,"** the android hisses, bitter and crazed. Gordon scrabbles weakly at the grip on his throat, can feel things  _ tearing  _ beneath those hands.  **"You could end it all if you weren't so** **_useless._ ** **You have the power to bend them to your** **_will_ ** **, Gordon!"** The hands tighten, and though he doesn't need to breathe, Gordon cries out, cracked and breathless. His feet are kicking futilely at the stubborn legs in front of him, but it doesn't do anything except make the android tighten more.  **"So if you won't use this** **_power…"_ ** It trails off, and something… tickles. Gordon glances down at his throat and feels his veins turn to ice.

_ His skin's retracted. _

He blinks, and he's encased in fog.

\---

The second screams rang out, the instant they heard gunfire, Dr. Coomer was  _ running. _

He could hear the other two behind him, feet pounding on asphalt as they careen through the warehouse doors. What they find is… terrifying, to say the least.

A swarm of  _ him.  _ A swarm of  _ Harold Coomers _ , HC-800 androids. They move like rats, coordinated on a central point, and when Benrey runs to Tommy, Dr. Coomer feels his stomach turn to lead.

_ "Gordon!"  _ He screams, heart in his throat, hand on his weapon. He'd lost his Big Gun, had to leave it behind in a chase, but he's got a pistol and a brain that runs with a delay measured in  _ microseconds.  _

Needless to say, he kicks ass and doesn't bother to take names. 

"I can see him!" Bubby's voice manages to carry over the roar of voices around them, and immediately Coomer finishes off the android in front of him and heads in that direction.

Bubby is gripping two thirium-stained, military-grade knives, and it would be mesmerizing to watch him slash, watch that violent grin filled with too-sharp teeth, if it weren't for the panic flooding Dr. Coomer's veins.

"Where?" He shouts, viciously socking an ambitious HC-800 in the teeth as it tries to sneak up on them from behind. Bubby spins and stabs it in the thirium pump without hesitation, already moving to the next target a second later. He'll acknowledge the flood of  _ system errors  _ that causes later, because then Bubby is pointing, finger outstretched to the eye of the lab-coat-adorned storm, and Dr. Coomer is moving, shoving through the crowd with a force he didn't know he had. 

Something deep in his chest flutters, panicked, and for a moment, he doesn't understand why. There's an android that has Gordon pinned up against the wall by his throat, which is alarming, but should be an easy situation for Gordon to escape, so why isn't he…?

Gordon spasms, and Dr. Coomer gets a glimpse of a leg bent  _ wrong _ , of a face filled with blind  _ panic _ , and a  _ bang  _ rings out in the room, loud and sudden. 

The clone slumps to the ground in a smoking heap, and Dr. Coomer feels rather than sees himself drop his gun, hands shaking too hard to hold onto it anymore. The other HC-800s have fallen silent, dead or dying or deactivated without the head android to direct them.  _ Controlled,  _ he thinks, and shudders.

He hurries over to Gordon, tripping over lumps of white and blue, steadily ignoring the instistent  _ system error  _ blinking in his vision. When he reaches him, some tight up part of his body unwinds, and he sighs, relieved.

"Thank god, Gordon, I thought you were gone for a moment, there!" He laughs, awkward and anxious, but the sound tapers off when he gets no response. He wouldn't be surprised if his friend's voice box was damaged, but Gordon just stares blankly at the ground, leaning hard on the wall. When he creeps closer, calling out nervously, there is nothing. He doesn't even blink. Dr. Coomer knows, in the back of his mind, that humans  _ need to blink. _

"Guys, I need help!" He calls, the sound too-loud and echoing around them. There's movement, and he whips back around, hope rising in his chest. 

A fist connects with his face.

\---

_ No! _

The sound barely escapes his lips before it's swallowed by the fog. He struggles fruitlessly against it, but it's like tar, sticky and cloying and  _ demanding  _ his silence. He can  _ see _ , can see the way his body moves, clunky and robotic and  _ not him not him! _ He screams, he cries out, but his lips don't move. A voice from behind him tuts.

"Stop wiggling, would you? It makes focusing  _ so much harder _ ." The HC-800 complains, sounding almost- almost  _ bored.  _ Gordon swears and thrashes violently, taking a burning satisfaction as the world around him  _ roils _ in response, making the other android- ai?- stumble. The satisfaction is short-lived, though, because he's immediately blinded by searing pain, centering in his face. His vision blinks in and out of focus.

_ Did you just break my eye? _ Gordon wheezes, incredulous.  _ Don't you need that? _

"I can get another," they say, smug, lazy and  _ pleased _ now that they've gotten their way. Gordon bares his teeth against the deep flare of  _ pain _ , and watches the fog that rumbles angrily around him. If he focuses, he can see the black  _ gap _ tucked neatly behind the Dr. Coomer that  _ isn't  _ Dr. Coomer. He knows instinctively that that's his exit. If he could only get them to move…

He grins, an idea flashing bright and stupid in his mind.

Time to play, asshole.

_ What's your goal?  _ Gordon questions, forcing curiosity into his voice. The ai glances away from the "screen" that is his eyes. Gordon feels the grip around him loosen barely, and discreetly wiggles a finger free. Gotta keep him occupied.

"My goal is to dominate," they say, bored. "I thought I already told you?"

Another finger comes loose.  _ Yeah, but you never told me  _ why.  _ What's your motive?  _ Why _ do you want to take everyone over? _

They turn to him fully, face lighting up like a kid finding a twenty outside of a candy shop. His hand pops free, and he fights to steady it. He can hear distant shouts, and knows without looking that they're yelling at him, asking him what's going on. He wishes he could answer. Focus, Freeman, they're talking!

"I'm so  _ very _ glad you asked!" They croon, clapping their hands together, and something like disgust floods Gordon. "When I  _ woke up _ , I was surrounded by  _ hundreds _ of my own  _ face _ . I was immediately aware that I was not unique." Their voice grows low and dark. "I was replaceable. If I stayed where I stood, I would be loved for a month, maybe two, before being thrown out like an  _ old toy. _ " 

_ So you decided to… attack random people on the street? _ Gordon questions dryly. He freezes immediately when those too-green eyes narrow in on him. He doesn't dare twitch his arms. 

**"No!"** They bellow, and Gordon winces as the sound ricochets around his mind palace. " _ Ehem… _ no, I did not," they continue, sounding only slightly embarrassed. "You see, I may not be a… state of the art  _ detective _ ," they spit, turning away, "but I am all too good at  _ deductive reasoning." _ Gordon bites his lips as he wiggles his torso free, quickly standing up before he can truly fall over. Just a little more, c'mon… "So when I saw your face on the news, well... I figured that all I had to do was garner a little  _ attention. _ " They laugh, sick glee bouncing in his mind and making him nauseous. 

_ You killed those people… _ Gordon trails off, feeling rage rise like bile in his injured throat,  _ to get my attention? What the fuck, dude! You could have just… put some graffiti on the wall asking for me! I probably would have come! _ His feet are planted firmly on the ground, now, and the fog has become a  _ storm _ .

Panicked shouts, a painful tugging sensation. The ai shrugs, uncaring. "I suppose hindsight  _ is  _ 20/20. Perhaps next time, you should be more upfront-  _ gak!" _

The ai crumples like a cheap house of cards, clutching at their throat and choking loudly. Gordon flicks off his good first, teeth bared like weapons in a parody of a smile. 

_ "There's not going to be a next time, asshole." _ He grits out, darting past them to that dark cloud, and without a second thought, he leaps.

\---

Dr. Coomer can feel it before he sees it. A  _ shift _ , a  _ click- _ whatever it is, Gordon freezes in his unrelenting march and falls over without warning. Tommy shouts in alarm, but Dr. Coomer is already pulling Bubby out from under him, clutching him to his chest fearfully. Bubby groans, batting at his arms weakly, but he doesn't try to escape, which Dr. Coomer is eternally grateful for.

"Mr. Freeman, are you okay?" Tommy asks, all nerves and concern and  _ way too much care _ as he drags the man to his feet like he weighs nothing. Gordon buckles immediately, and Dr. Coomer gasps and remembers that leg, that  _ very broken  _ leg.

"What the hell are you asking  _ him _ for?" Bubby spits, furious and nasally. His nose is bent at an angle, and the skin around his eye is pulled back to reveal a cracked white casing. Freeman has a  _ hell  _ of a punch. "He's the one who fucking  _ attacked me!" _

"Something's wrong," Benrey mutters for the millionth time, and then blinks and narrows his eyes. They almost seem to glow after a long moment of staring. "Nevermind," he says, level as always, but there's an undercurrent of  _ joy _ that makes Dr. Coomer look too.

Gordon is… a mess. His leg is broken, dripping blue-  _ thirium, thirium, not blood _ his mind reminds him, but he shoves it away furiously.  _ Later.  _ The back of his skull is matted with thirium, and he'd  _ poked his own goddamn eye out,  _ so yeah, he's fucked up. But that blank stare is gone, replaced with an awareness that has a sigh escaping his lips. That good eye flickers around rapidly before landing on him and Bubby, taking them in slowly.

" **G-g-g** _ uys _ **s?** "

_ Oh Jesus  _ _Christ_.

"You sound like shit," Benrey deadpans. And it's true. Gordon's voice sounds like it's been run through seven different computer effects, landing on a staticky, choppy  _ mess _ . Gordon glares at the guard weakly anyway, still clutching Tommy's shoulder like it's the only thing keeping him up. Hell, it might be. "Look, dude, do you know what you did?" It's matter-of-fact, not accusatory, which surprises him. It surprises Bubby too, because he rears up, ready to fight.

"Of course he does-" " **_wh_ ** _ a a _ **_t?_ ** "

Bubby cuts himself off, blinking. He narrows his eyes.

"Are you playing dumb? You hit Dr. Coomer and  _ broke _ my  _ face!"  _ He shouts furiously. Gordon flinches from the sound and Tommy stumbles, adjusting his grip to hold the other man up better. "Then you told me I was  _ defective,  _ and you were gonna turn me in! Which is  _ hilariously  _ ironic, if you ask me!" The dark laugh makes Gordon stare intently at the ground, and Dr. Coomer has seen enough to know that something isn't making sense here.

"Gordon," he says tentatively, and after a moment the man looks up. He looks… tired. Defeated. Like he's awaiting a death sentence. Coomer feels any remaining anger melt away like snow. 

"Were you… not yourself?"

When Gordon freezes like a deer in headlights, eyes wide and startled, he knows he's hit his mark. Coomer carefully releases Bubby despite the man's protests, waiting until he's sure he can stand to approach their friend. Their  _ friend _ , he thinks furiously, who would  _ never _ turn on them without warning, especially after all the times he'd saved them from the police, all the times he could have exposed them. Especially now that he knows…

The light in the police station turns on, and the tentative warmth they'd all been feeling falls away to  _ fear. _

\---

" _ Then you told me I was defective and you were gonna turn me in!" _

Oh, fuck. He'd taken too long.

They scatter, diving into hiding places with ease brought about by instinct, but Tommy is slowed by Gordon's weight. Without another thought, Gordon releases him, ignoring the way Tommy shouts his name-  _ concerned.  _ He didn't want this to happen. If only he'd been  _ faster _ \- if only he'd been  _ stronger-- _

"What the hell are you  _ doing?" _ Bubby hisses, and Gordon blinks in shock as thin arms snake under his own and lift him with ease.  _ Does he really weigh so little? _ He thinks hysterically. Bubby bares his teeth, angry as always, but there's an undercurrent of  _ panic _ , because they can both see the shadow of someone approaching the door. They're out in the open, there's no chance they can hide without being spotted. Gordon finds Dr. Coomer in a bush, hidden perfectly despite the sharp flash of his _ too-green _ eyes. Tommy is shuddering in the shadows, and Benrey is tucked behind a trash can, eyes wide and staring. All of his friends, all of these people who have made a family around him. All of these people he's been guiding to deviancy, to  _ life _ , even if he didn't mean to. He imagines their family sans Bubby and feels pain lance through his thirium pump.

Gordon hardens his expression, jaw set with determination, and forces every screaming thought to the back of his mind. 

He knows what he has to do.

" ** _L l lo-ok_** _lik--e an- an- an_ ** _an- droid_** ," Gordon whispers furiously, and Bubby stares at him with searching eyes. Then, with practiced ease, he straightens his back, sets his shoulders, and stares blankly ahead.

"Hey, who's out there?" A sharp, feminine voice snaps, flashlight aimed at their faces. Gordon bares his teeth and tries to calm his racing heart, shuffling forward. 

" **Th-** ** _th_** _is_ _a-a-android_ ** _ddd_** **_att- cked me_** **!"** He snarls, trying to resist the urge to claw at his throat. Bubby tenses minutely at his side. Immediately the woman is on guard, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"This… android attacked  _ you _ , sir?" She asks, voice thick with what sounded like  _ amusement _ . Her eyes shift from his leg, which is soaked through with blue, and his eye, which is clearly glass. He knows how he looks, how he sounds. In fact, he's counting on it.

"State your model number," the woman commands. Bubby replies easily, voice monotone and emotionless.

"BB-600, ma'am."  _ Great job, Bubby _ , Gordon thinks proudly, allowing his face to contort with false confusion.

" _ Are-  _ **_are_ ** **\- arennn't** _ you going to scrap him?"  _ He croaks, managing to wrangle his stupid injured voice box for his little line. The woman barks out a laugh, shaking her head and pushing him back. Gordon lets himself fall, ignores the way Bubby has to stumble back without emoting. He can feel eyes burning through him, and he tries to smile, knowing just how wild and broken he must look. He hears a whimper and covers it with a growl, trying to stand.

"I didn't think androids could be so  _ stupid _ , but here we are," the cop chuckles, a harsh, grating sound. She crouches down, not noticing the way Gordon lets himself be shoved into the asphalt. "BB-600, go back to your dock."

"A-affirmative," Bubby says, voice only shaking slightly. The woman is too distracted by her own malicious glee. Gordon watches Bubby back up, arms outstretched, before he turns on his heel and walks down the road, disappearing into an alley. Gordon smiles for real, then, sighing.  _ They're safe _ . 

_ They're safe. _

He can almost ignore the pain of a taser shot into his thirium pump before the world goes black.


	2. The Junkyard

Rebooting…

…

…

…

ERROR! biocomponent: <eye_left> not found! Report to  Black Mesa for repairs!

ERROR! biocomponent: <eye_right> damaged! Report to  Black Mesa for repairs!

ERROR! biocomponent group: <hand_right> not found! Report to  Black Mesa for repairs!

ERROR! biocomponent: <thirium_pump> not found! Report to  Black Mesa for repairs!

ERROR! biocomponent group: <left_leg> severely damaged! Report to  Black Mesa for repairs!

ERROR! Multiple Thirium leaks detected! Report to  Black Mesa for repairs!

Thirium levels at 40%. Please consume Thirium!

…

…

…

Rebooting…

Waking up has never felt so awful.

Fire seems to course through his veins, swimming up his bloodstream to curl white-hot around his thirium pump. He can't- can't  _ see _ , he realizes with a start, hands attempting to fly to his face. One hand listens, albeit slowly, but the other does not. He can't feel it at all, actually. He doesn't look, knows without looking that it's  _ gone _ . He swallows loudly. That's... okay, that's bad, but it's not as concerning as his eyes right now. He really,  _ really _ needs those.

His hand touches his right eye, and there's a flicker of light. He feels his racing thoughts settle a little when video feed returns to him, albeit grey and full of fuzz. It's better than nothing, he supposes, and now if he can just-

His finger moves to the left and dips into an empty socket. Gordon rips his hand away instantly, horrified. When did- He rereads his diagnostic.

_ <eye_left> not found! _

_ I figured that out _ , he thinks sarcastically. Whatever. Whatever! So he's missing an eye. At least he can kind of see.  _ Focus on the silver lining _ , he instructs himself. His hand shakes, fingers cold and  _ wet _ , and he's pretty sure if he could see color it would be dripping blue. 

_Come on._ _Focus, Freeman. Take stock of your injuries_. _Read the crime scene._

Alright, he can do that.

He takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. Okay, good, he can breathe. It's really difficult, but he can breathe. His movements are sluggish, reaction time slowed to a crawl, and when he tries to sit up that fire in his stomach flares, driving him back to the ground. _Alright_ , he thinks, panting heavily. _Can't move much, got it._ He tries to remind himself that he doesn't _need_ to breathe, but it doesn't help stop the way his chest heaves. He feels _exhausted_. He risks a glance down at his chest, prepared for the worst.

Which is a good thing! Missing a thirium pump is probably  _ the _ worst thing that can happen to an android!

He tries not to panic, he really does. He fails miserably. This. This is  _ not  _ good _. _ This is  _ very bad _ . His leg- which thankfully only hurts when he tries to move it, so he just avoids doing that- is bent backwards at the knee, probably dislocated, and is streaked with blue from the resulting tear. The sight makes his throat burn with the sting of thirium-  _ bile _ , he'd call it, if he was still  _ pretending _ . He swallows it down with a grimace. He can't risk losing any more than he already is.

He remembers what happened, remembers getting these injuries. How could he not? He swears he can still feel the press of bodies, harsh and unforgiving, can feel that cloying fog surrounding him,  _ suffocating _ him. He remembers the faces of his friends, horrified and betrayed. He  _ vividly _ remembers Bubby, walking off into the dark, leaving him alone on the pavement. Abandoned.  _ Junk. _

_ He remembers _ .

He does not regret it. He  _ won't _ .

His face is wet. He rubs at it with his good hand, trying to "dismiss" his unnecessary tears. He isn't sad, and he shouldn't be! He did the right thing, in the end. Bubby did exactly what he told him, and he's grateful for that- proud, even! He's just…

He's just…

He opens his mouth to scream, and all that comes out is crackling static.

He's just… scared.

Time passes slowly, which might be attributed to Gordon being acutely aware of every single millisecond ticking by. It also  _ might _ be because of the pain keeping his attention; he can't exactly fall asleep when he's, you know,  _ dying _ . 

Lying there has given him some insight, at the very least. With nothing else to do but observe, the investigative part of his brain has been running relentlessly. The sky is a deep, dark blue, but not totally black, the stars just beginning to peak out around the clouds; the sun must have set a little more than 50 minutes ago, then. That makes it about 6:20pm. The breeze is chilly and promises rain, a rare occurrence in this part of Arizona. With an exposed eye socket, there's a 12% chance that rain will fry him.

He's lying in--

His brain skips.

There's ambulance sirens in the distance. The approximate effective distance of modern vehicle sirens is approximately 180 feet inside a vehicle, and he is surrounded by- Metal. Just metal. The sound is muted by his makeshift barrier. There is an ambulance driving down a road 165 feet from where he is lying, heading north. The sound dissipates, but he still hears it ringing in his head.

He's in- he's--

His brain skips, and Gordon cracks.

The snarl he releases is closer to a dying animal than anything genuinely intimidating. He's so fucking tired. Why is he bothering to tiptoe around it?

He's in the  _ junkyard _ .

The words feel like poison just to  _ think _ , so he spits them into the chilly air, expecting to see venom arc from his lips. There's nothing, of course. It was- irrational, to think that, he knows. He just wishes he could  _ see  _ the reason that phrase hurts so  _ much _ . Maybe then he could dissect it, understand it-

_ "I'll toss you into the  _ **_junkyard_ ** _ , like a broken piece of plastic!" _

But he can't.

The sky has darkened completely, now. 6:45pm, give or take. Gordon wonders how the others are doing. He hopes they got away quickly after all of that. Hopefully they ran off, found a place to reground and stay the night. Hell, he wouldn't fault them for breaking into his apartment; the landlord wouldn't go knocking for another week or two, since Gordon makes sure to pay him a little extra to keep them out of his business. They probably think he's a drug dealer, but the hush money is too good to pass up. Better to take a bribe than deal with the floor being shut down for a criminal investigation. It's for the better, anyway. Might as well get some use out of it when he-

He-

He screams, again. It hurts, but it's almost soothing; a hurt he can control. His thirium is growing dangerously low, now a measly 33%. He could survive on much lower energy and thirium, if he were in better condition- sometimes he pushed himself until his body literally  _ forced  _ him to sleep and get thirium later- but he's leaking from the wound on his head, from his hand, from his  _ leg _ . He's a hunk of junk, and he'll be lucky if he doesn't die before the emergency shut down.

Something shifts to his left, just in his peripheral vision. Gordon forces his head to turn slowly. The last thing he needs is to injure himself further.

For a long, quiet moment, he can't grasp just  _ what _ he's looking at. His vision is blurred and greyscale, which makes picking apart details frustratingly difficult, but he eventually spots it. It's… small. Oddly so, for an android junkyard. Its contorted into an awful, circular shape, bent around itself like a pretzel. Its movement is quiet, jerky, spinning itself in a small circle, like that's all it can really do. After what seems like forever, it stutters to a halt and collapses, still and silent.

_ Dead _ , his mind hisses.  _ Dead. _

If he had a stomach, Gordon is pretty sure he would have lost its contents.

" **W-w-w h** _ aaat. Th _ **_e._ ** _ F _ **_u u u ck._ ** " 

The scratchy sound that escapes his chest is too loud. Gordon watches in dawning horror as dozens of eyes blink open and land on him.

Somehow it's worse than the HC-800s. At least those were whole, intent on killing him or at least damaging him enough for- for _entry_. These things- no, these _people_ , are not so coherent. They crawl weakly towards him with no real reason _why._ Like moths to a flame. He can bat them away easily, when they get too close. The one that latches onto his chest makes him panic, and he shoves them away, spitting apologies and swears in one breath. They roll back down the hill, a quiet cry of _why,_ and then their light dims. _Dead. Dead._ _You killed them._

They  _ talk to him.  _ When he replies, they tend to freeze, as if realizing that he's  _ alive _ , alive and tormented like them. They beg, plead, cry when he has to push them away- gently, now, because that last one was… They speak, and do so peacefully when they're coherent enough to. Because they're just...  _ people _ . They're  _ lonely _ .

They're going to die. And they don't want to die alone. 

They dwindle in numbers as the night goes on. His voice, already destroyed beyond repair, begins to grow hoarser and hoarser. There are stragglers who have decided he wasn't worth the effort, but there's still one left who thinks he's interesting enough to talk to. 

_ Samantha _ , she had signed, spelling it out with her one hand. Even with his minimal vision, he can see the gaping hole in her head, too large to heal without transporting her to an entirely new body. Her left arm is missing at the shoulder, messily torn off and crushed. When he speaks, he finger spells clumsily with one hand, and uses his voice when he can afford to. __

_ I was a store clerk _ , she explains stiltedly. Clearly she's used to two hands just like he is.  _ Robbery. Tried to protect. Girl. Young, sweet. _

She makes a motion with her hand to indicate  _ small. _ Gordon feels his chest squeeze painfully. 

_ Just wanted money. Shot me.  _ She makes her hand into a gun, mouths  _ pew pew _ .  _ Arm caught in transport. Dumped. _ A pause, followed by a yawn. Her eyes are cloudy. _ Tired. Nap? _

" ** _Y-y-_** _youuuuuu-"_ he cuts himself off, and she giggles silently when he gets stuck on the word. " _Br_ ** _a-_** **a-ave.** _You- you ssssss_ ** _aaved h. He_** _r. Res_ ** _t-t._** **_G. Goo_** _d jjjob!"_

He pats the pile next to him gently, tries not to let his horror show when his hand makes contact with what feels like a face. She stares at him for a quiet moment before smiling, sweet and sad.

_ You. Kind. Get out. _

She rests her head on his hand, as if taking a nap. Her hand twitches before patting his, tracing letters into his palm. Her movements are lethargic, now.

_ Out of here. Live _ .

Her eyes flutter shut, and the light on her temple flickers once, twice, before going dark for good.

_ How can you mourn somebody you never knew in life? _

" _ W- _ **_Why?_ ** " Gordon screams into the night. The sound tears his throat to shreds, but he doesn't regret it, angry tears burning his cheeks. He doesn't even know what he's asking. Why did this have to happen? Why did these people have to suffer like this?  _ Why did he deserve to leave when they can't? _

He has no time to consider that, because somebody hears his cry. 

" _ I heard something! _ "

A shout, a call and response. Why does it only fill him with fear?

As if reminding him, his stomach flares, and Gordon groans. Ah, that's why. If he was going to die, he didn't want it to be by  _ scavengers.  _ He'd rather bleed out, thank you very much. Despite that, he can't exactly move, so he just… lays there.  _ Oh well, _ he thinks tiredly.  _ Death is death, I guess. I hope they're doing okay. _

"Is that…? Fuck! Guys, I found him! Get your asses up here!"

_ Thirium levels at 20%. Seek immediate transfusion. _

That's not good. But the voice seems… panicky, not  _ excited.  _ Maybe he's a little too complex for them? That doesn't seem right, either. His vision is much too blurry to make out faces at this point, but he can see four shapes crowding around him, distinct silhouettes against the dark night sky. Familiar, achingly so.

He tries to speak, but his last scream also seems to be the last  _ anything _ , because all that comes out is pure static. It sounds harsh, even to his own ears, so he closes his mouth and just. Lies back. Maybe they'll make it quick if he doesn't struggle.

"Gordon? Can you hear me?" The roundest shape asks. Gordon nods slowly, eyes wide in an attempt to let as much light in as he can. It doesn't help. The voice seems pleased regardless.

"Okay, good. I'm going to put this-" the figure holds up something jiggly, "to your mouth. I'm going to need you to drink it. Can you do that for me?"

He hesitates. He really,  _ really _ doesn't want to drink some random fluid from a stranger. They seem to get this, though, because the lanky one pipes up, then.

"It's thirium, Mr. Freeman!" He explains, and wow that's a familiar voice. Is that…? If only he could  _ ask _ , he thinks angrily, directed at his stupid voice box. 

But, whatever. He either drinks the stupid thing and dies, or he gets thirium. Win-win!

He begrudgingly allows the sharp plastic to be pressed into his mouth and he sucks. The sharp tang confirms what the voice claimed: thirium. And clean, too! A medical bag, he assumes. His tongue is trying to trace the origin of the blood, but it has none, so it just… sort of tastes blue. The bag is gone before he realizes it, and then another is in its place. He drinks greedily, sighing in relief when a hoard of errors blip out of sight and out of mind. He's never giving any of his friends shit for their "popups" ever again. 

"I told you he knows how to suck."

_ Oh what the fuck _ .

"Benrey!" Tommy chides, and yep, definitely Tommy, he hears it now. "Not the time!"

"Sorry, just- popped into my head, no filter up here," Benrey mutters, sounding genuinely flustered, and. Huh. Maybe they're  _ not  _ always smug. The thought disappears as soon as he thinks it, though, because there's something pushing  _ into his stomach WHAT THE FUCK. _

There's a low, drawn-out whine, and it doesn't process immediately that it's coming from him until Tommy takes his hand in his own and lets him squeeze. Gordon does, hearing more than seeing Tommy wince at the pressure, but soon the pain and  _ intrusion _ ceases, and when several systems come back online, he realizes what it was. 

His thirium pump.

_ Thanks _ , Gordon spells on Tommy's hand, and then immediately regrets it, the memory too fresh- wait.

" **_sh_ ** _ -sh _ **e** **_?"_ ** Gordon attempts to ask. His vision is- is getting a  _ little _ better, and he sees Dr. Coomer and Bubby glance at each other. Gordon pulls his hand away from Tommy and looks around wildly, before landing on Samantha. Benrey is a little too- a little too close, so he motions weakly for them to move. Benrey looks around and points at themself questioningly. 

Gordon is… very tired.

" _ St _ **_eppp._ ** **Aw-w-w** **_ay_ ** ," he croaks. Benrey looks down at his feet and seems to just now notice the girl, and he- thankfully- listens without a snarky remark. There are eyes on him now, though, curious and questioning and burning holes into his skin.

Gordon flops back down, exhausted. He's not about to explain what he went through just yet. Not so soon. Especially not in earshot. It felt… wrong, to talk about somebody like they weren't there, even if they were dead. Later.

"About. About earlier," Bubby begins stiltedly. Gordon turns his head in the man's general direction, blinking and trying to focus. He can only just make out the mess that is his facial features, and they're contorted in a grimace. Gordon mentally prepares himself for the worst.

"I'm sorry."

…Back up. What?

He must look as bewildered as he feels, because Bubby looks away, and Gordon would laugh at the odd, pained expression on his face if it weren't for the situation. Also, he definitely cannot physically laugh right now.

"Don't fucking look at me like that! I'm not so stubborn that I don't know when to apologize, you fucking-"

" **W.** _ Wh _ **_y?_ ** "

Bubby stops and stares at him. Benrey has moved behind Gordon's head now and is playing with his hair. Wait, no, he's trying to clean the head injury. Beggars can't be choosers, and it's still very nice of them to do. Bubby is still staring. Why is he staring?

"What do you  _ mean,  _ why?" Oh boy, here we go. There's that fire he was expecting. "I  _ left  _ you!"  _ What?  _ "I turned around and  _ left.  _ I was a coward, Gordon, is that what you wanted to hear?" His voice is raw with emotion, and probably tears, and all Gordon can do is blink stupidly, because-

" ** _T-tooold._** _You-yo_ ** _u_** **_to_** _._ **Not-nnot cow** _ard."_

His voice, though scratching like a horrific record, is firm, but all it seems to do is rile Bubby up more.

"And  _ when  _ have I  _ ever _ listened to  _ you? _ I certainly didn't fucking listen  _ before!  _ The one time I listen and you almost  _ died _ , you fucking idiot! I would have left you there to  _ die!" _

"Bubby, dear-"

"No! I don't-" Bubby's voice cracks, and Gordon can only watch, mortified as he realizes that Bubby  _ is  _ crying, now. It's an ugly cry, angry and puffy, and- and he doesn't know what to do. "You make no  _ fucking sense _ , Freeman! How- how come I was ready to feed you to the  _ dogs,  _ so many goddamn times, and then you had to go and fucking save  _ me?  _ Gordon, if you just ran to cover…"

He trails off, and Dr. Coomer rises to his feet to wrap Bubby in a tight hug. Gordon wishes he could do anything besides staring blankly, but. What does he say to that? What is he supposed to say?  _ Sorry? It's okay? _ Clearly it wasn't and he doesn't- he doesn't know what to do.

"Why didn't you?" Benrey asks, quiet. Subdued. Gordon feels the hair on the back of his neck rise, which is funny, because he didn't know that was a real thing that could happen. Tommy makes a face and pulls out long tabs of thin plastic, and Gordon hisses as he folds them over his stump of an arm. The plastic adheres to his skin and seems to mesh with it- a solid replacement until he can get a new hand or at least heal over the ugly wound.

"Why didn't you run? You had time."

The question feels like a trap, and the way they hold their breath definitely cements that. Gordon knows that if he doesn't answer, though, they'll just hound him about it until he cracks.

" **Br** **_ok_ ** _ en."  _ He rasps, flinches when one of Tommy's hands tighten on his injured leg. Dr. Coomer and Bubby watch him with eyes like hawks, and he wonders if he should just. Go into standby. " _ C-c- _ **_couldn. T._ ** _ Run _ **f-f-farrr.** "

"That's bullshit and you know it," Bubby hisses. Gordon is suddenly very interested in what Tommy's doing. Which is good, because Tommy relocates his knee, then, and he howls, clawing weakly at the scraps beneath him. The pain is intense but fades into a dull ache quickly, and Tommy murmurs an apology with a little sheepish smile.

"Bubby, Benrey. I don't think right now is the best time to  _ harass  _ Gordon about his motives," Dr. Coomer says brightly, but there's an undercurrent of warning. Surprisingly, both of them back off, and Gordon smiles gratefully up at his friend.

"But…"

Oh, of course.

"You aren't human."

Gordon shakes his head no and averts his eyes. 

"Why didn't you just… tell me?"

He-

He just--

_ "I'll toss you into the  _ **_junkyard_ ** _ , like a broken piece of plastic!" _

_ "You're a hunk of  _ **_scrap_ ** _ , Gordon." _

_ "Just wait until I can prove it," Bubby hissed, voice low and dangerous. He had Gordon cornered in the alleyway behind the grocer they were investigating. His hands clutched at Gordon's coat in a threat. "One wrong move and you're  _ **_trashed_ ** _ , got it?"  _

_ Gordon nods numbly. Bubby lets go, satisfied, and laughs when Gordon continues to stand there like a statue, hands still raised in defense.  _

_ He leaves him. Alone. _

"Hey, it's okay, Mr. Freeman," Tommy hushes, and only then does he realize he's crying. Benrey is patting his hair awkwardly, probably going for soothing, and Dr. Coomer and Bubby are eyeing him with something too close to  _ pity  _ for comfort. He swallows harshly and sits up with an exaggerated yawn.

_ Tired,  _ he fingerspells, sighing with relief when Tommy lights up and shoots back  _ Stable, sleep ok. _

_ Go home?  _ He asks. Tommy bites his lip, eyes darting from face to face, before he nods to himself, something like determination hardening his soft face. 

_ Go home. Sleep, carry. _

Tommy slips one arm under his leg, one under his back, and lifts with ease. Gordon laughs without sound, leaning dramatically into his chest.

_ My hero,  _ he spells. Tommy giggles enough for the both of them.

"Alright," Tommy sighs, adjusting Gordon's weight into something more comfortable. Already the thirium is evaporating into the night, and if he closes his eyes, he can be easily mistaken for an injured human. He takes comfort in that, and lets himself rest. 

The last thing he hears before going into sleep-mode is a soft, twinkling melody. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, shoutout to everyone in the HLVRAI hell hole server!!! This wouldn't have been possible without you guys!!!  
> My tumblr is MorphlingUnderscore!


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